Basement Confessions
by RebelWade
Summary: Post-Undercover/Sealview conversations between Elliot and Olivia. One-shot.


She used to fall asleep hard. Really hard. Getting her to wake up took at strong pinch or firm tap on the cheek. Now, she murmurs in her sleep, startled by the smallest things. I know she's about to wake up because her grip on the seatbelt is tight enough to make her knuckles white and her panicked slurs are getting louder.

"No! Stop!" Her eyes pop open. She checks her surroundings. She exhales sharply when she remembers where we are.

"It's just me. You're on a stakeout," I say.

Olivia smirks, scoffs. "I know." She rakes her fingers through her hair, tucks the right side behind her ear.

"Another nightmare?"

She nods, takes her coffee from the cupholder. Sips. "Just a dumb recurring thing. Sorry I drifted off."

I look away from her, out the window. I know I shouldn't ask again. She gets pissed when I do.

But I can't help it. "What happened in the basement, Liv?" I say it like I'm telling the window a secret.

I hear her sigh, more like a groan. "Shut up, El. Nothing happened."

I shake my head. I knew the answer before I asked the question. "Right," I say. I rub my hand down my face in frustration.

"What, are you mad at me now?" Her tone is accusatory.

"No." Yes. I get that it's her trauma to share. But I'm hurt that she doesn't trust me with it. It's not fair to tell her that, though.

"I know you well enough to know when you're pissed at me, Elliot."

I turn back to her. "And I know _you _well enough to know when something happened."

Her eyes widen. She knows I'm right. She looks away.

"Look," I say, a little softer. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, it's just…" I stumble, probably because I'm realizing it as I say it. "I think I'm mad at myself for not being the kind of man you can trust with this."

The way her head moves, I can tell she just rolled her eyes at me. But she remains silent, so I give up, go back to focusing on this suspect we're supposed to be looking for.

There's a five-minute lull before she says anything. "Being a woman in this field is a strange thing to navigate."

My eyebrows furrow. The change in conversation is a little jarring and I'm trying to follow her train of thought. I look at her, but her eyes stare vacantly out the passenger-side window.

"If a perp comes onto me, the men I work with feel the need to say something. If a perp comes _at_ me, a man steps in."

I see it now. She's explaining why she's reluctant to share. "I've never thought anything less of you than knowing you can hold your own."

She nods, her head low as it turns to face forward and I'm looking at the side of her face. "Except for when I couldn't hold my own in that basement."

It's the first time she's ever confessed that anything happened and my stomach is in knots already. _Shit_. Maybe a part of me wanted her to stay stubborn and not tell me.

"It's not that I don't trust you. It's that I hate feeling like SVU's damsel in distress."

She gets a small laugh out of me with that one. "Trust me, Liv. You are no damsel."

She huffs. Twirls her almost-empty coffee cup in her hands. She speaks slowly. "I told you and Cragen that I would be fine if I went to Sealview, that I could handle it… But I fucked up."

"Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault." We say it so often that it almost sounds cheap saying to her, but I want her to know that I mean it. She can't blame herself.

"I'm not a civilian, El."

"No, you're human."

She looks at me then, her eyes watery.

"As much as I like to think you're Wonder Woman," I add. That earns a weak smile. I'll take what I can get.

She turns back to the windshield. There's a pause. Then, "Sometimes I sleep better on stakeouts than I do at home."

I'm not sure whether to feel sad about the confession, or proud that she's explaining her trust in me, that she feels safe with me. "Then go back to sleep," I tell her.

She shakes her head, points. "Can't. There's our suspect."

Damn. She's right. There he is—the description couldn't have been more perfect: salt and pepper hair, tan shorts, black and red plaid shirt. He's heading toward a storage facility.

Olivia and I share a look, a nod, and we're out of the car.

"Excuse me, Ray Miller?" My voice carries over the wind to the suspect.

He turns at his name. "Yeah, who's asking?"

Olivia and I pull our badges. "Detectives Stabler and Benson, NYPD."

And just like that, we're chasing our suspect on foot into an unfamiliar storage building.

_Go right, I'll go straight, _Olivia motions with her hands when we enter the building. There are aisles of storage rooms. Nothing for the perp to hide behind except walls. I go in, quickly checking each lane before carefully maneuvering myself to the next aisle, gun poised. Nothing yet.

Next aisle. Nothing.

Next.

"Ungh!" _THWACK! THUD!_

"El, over here!"

I run, gun still ready. My biggest fear always being that I'll turn a corner and find my partner captured. I run toward the sounds, heart racing, but I can't find her. "Liv?"

"I'm over here!"

_Left. _I turn, run down the next aisle. Then I find her, perp on the floor, hands behind his back, Olivia's knee holding him down at his upper back.

"Get off me bitch!" he yells.

I switch my gun out for cuffs and help her restrain him. We share a glance. "Damsel, my ass."

She smirks, holds up a key. "This was in his pocket. Storage room 32."

It was his sanctuary of pedophilia. Trophies, photos, and all the evidence we need to put this guy way for life.

* * *

"Cheers," Olivia says. "To catching the bastard."

"And for the bastard leading us to everything we need for his sentencing." Our glasses clink together before we sip.

We're older now, drink a little less often than we used to. Our tolerances have dwindled, but we pretend we can still handle our liquor. Olivia is two glasses of wine in. That's about the time she gets more talkative, but not too tipsy. Never unguarded, just more open. She's tapping a finger on the bar. It will be any momen—

"It's not what you're thinking."

Right on time.

"You don't know what I'm thinking," I retort. She shoots me a glare. "Fine, you probably know what I'm thinking."

"It's not that."

I feel my eyes narrow. I don't mean for them to, I'm trying to keep a neutral expression, but I need her to be more specific. I'm sure she _does _know what I'm thinking, but I need to hear it.

I sip my beer. "Tell me what it isn't."

The bartender sets another glass in front of her. She mouths a _thank you._ "I just told you—you already know."

"I need to hear it, Liv."

She takes a sip, keeps her eyes on her glass when she sets it back down. "He didn't rape me."

It's only now that I realize a thousand-pound weight has been sitting on me for months, because half of it just lifted. But I brace myself. "Something did happen, though."

She shifts in her seat. "He tried."

Heat consumes me, suppressed rage begging to be released in the form of a physical beating until Harris is dead. I assumed, but I didn't want to believe it. I press my lips together, swallow all the expletives so I don't shut her down.

"We struggled. Fought… He tried to…" She stops, sips again. "'If you bite me, I'll kill you.' That's what he said to me."

Wait. I have to clarify. I hope it's not what it sounds like. "You mean he—"

"He would have if Fin hadn't walked in."

Dead. He's a dead man. Humiliating and degrading such a strong and powerful woman? No. Fuck. That. Guy.

I'm staring at her as her chin quivers and I take a breath, rein it in. "But he did walk in? He walked in before…"

She nods. "Yeah, he did." Her voice is higher, throat tighter.

I don't know what to say. All I can think about is what _she _would say. For some reason, Olivia Benson is scrolling through my head like a black-and-white film. Her comforting words to hundreds of victims replaying on a loop. All I can think about is how she would say, "I'm really sorry this happened to you, Liv."

She looks up at me, eyes brimming with tears. I think I said it out loud. And I think she needed to hear it. Then I realize,

Olivia Benson needs Olivia Benson.

I study her. And I know that for the past few months she has put so much responsibility on herself for what happened. I tap into my vault of Olivia and search for the right phrases.

"Liv, nothing that happened in that basement was your fault. I hope you know that."

"I'm not a civilian, El, I could have—"

"There was nothing you could have done. You did nothing wrong."

"I could have—"

"You survived."

Olivia pauses, flits her eyes up to mine. "Thank you," she says. She sniffles. "I should have told you sooner."

"You needed time. I understand that. I'm sorry if I pushed you."

"I needed you to."

"I was kind of an ass."

"Nothing new there."

I turn to her and see that she's smiling. A real, genuine smile. Something I haven't seen in a while.

I smile too. "You're really beautiful. You know that?"

She looks away. Laughs lightly. "Uum…" She lifts a finger to get the bartender's attention. "I think it's time to go."

I realize what I said and shake my head. I never allow myself to cross that line with her. Even when we're drinking. I don't know what came over me.

"Sorry, Liv. I don't—"

"It's okay."

She's still smiling. Maybe even flattered. And I know that I said it because I missed it. Her smile. It overwhelmed me to see it again.

She sets a wad of cash on the bar when our bill arrives. "But I do think we should go."

I pay my half, but still ask as I follow her out the bar, "Why?"

She looks around for a taxi. "It's late."

I check my watch. "It's eight thirty." She tries to hail a cab. It passes us. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said, I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine," she says.

"Then, why…"

"Because you're usually able to filter yourself when you look at me like that."

The air feels thick as we stare at each other in silence.

She tucks that pesky strand of hair behind her ear again. "Look…" She stops, sighs. "You just usually don't… say that."

I shrug. "Maybe I should."

She laughs. "No… you shouldn't."

We're quiet again. She watches the street, lets an empty cab pass by without trying to hail it. That's how I know she has something else to say.

She's looking down when she finally speaks. "Thank you for today, El. I needed my best friend, even if I didn't see it at first. You saw it." She looks up at me. "I'm thankful that I have you to see through my stubbornness."

We both know there's more to us, but she's telling me that she needs me as her best friend. She doesn't want to ruin that.

I didn't mean to step into the boundaries of the part that is more, the lines are just so blurry sometimes.

But she has a complicated history with men, and I know that she needs a man she can trust. One whose intentions she never has to question.

I'll be whatever man she needs me to be.

I nod. "Always."

A cab pulls over to the curb. We both look at it, then back to each other.

"Walk me home?" she asks.

I sling my arm around her shoulders as we walk. "Anything for SVU's damsel in distress."

The elbow to my ribs will definitely leave a bruise tomorrow.


End file.
